Sleeves, Libations, & Smarties
by MatterOverMind
Summary: My new fic! Draco is a bartender in Muggle London and Harry thinks there's something more to it than that... mild stalking ensues. Takes place 5 years after the war... I'm shite at descriptions. Just read it (: The whole thing started because I wanted a fic where Draco had a sleeve (like, of tattoos), and I couldn't find one, so I made it myself. Feedback rocks my world. :D
1. Chapter 1

2nd May, 2003

I saw Malfoy today. I truly could not believe my eyes when I walked into a Muggle pub, of all places, and saw him behind the bar. But it was him, unmistakably. I don't know if he saw me... but I wasn't under a glamour or polyjuice, I hardly ever use it when I'm in Muggle London. Why bother? How often do you run into a wizard that you don't want to see in Muggle London? I purposely sat with my back to the bar and spoke as quietly as I could.

It sounds childish, I know. But I haven't seen him since the war. Well, I saw him from a distance at his father's trials. But we haven't spoken a word since the war. His wand is still buried somewhere in my school trunk. So to see him today, on the anniversary of the war... it was just too much for me. The whole reason I was in Muggle London is to avoid the sympathetic glances of 'Oh, it's Harry Potter, he's lost so much,' or the appreciative glances of 'Oh, it's Harry Potter, he saved us all.' I've had enough of that tripe, thank you very much.

But I did listen to him, it couldn't be helped. He was just standing there, tending bar as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a pureblooded ex-Death Eater to be working in a Muggle pub, let alone at all. So many questions were going through my head. How long had he been working there? Why was he working there? Were the Malfoys in financial trouble? I never thought I'd see that day, but who knows? How did he even stumble across a job in a pub? Granted, he was always aces at Potions, I suppose bartending wouldn't be too different.

He looked exactly the same. A little healthier, I mean, not the skeletal skin-and-bones teen that he had been in sixth and seventh year. He wore his hair longer, and not slicked back. Even in the Muggle world, he stood out. It was weird to see him in Muggle clothes, though. Muggle jeans, and a muggle t-shirt. The sort with the buttons down the front and a big open neck. He had lots of tattoos, though, but I didn't dare look long enough to see what of. They were all on his arm, with the faded Dark Mark. And there were some on his chest, too, peeking out from the top of his shirt.

Godric, I'm starting to think Hermione was always right when she said I was obsessed with him. I've barely thought of him for around six years now, and then all of a sudden I stumble across him and he's all I can think about. It's all just too strange... I have to go back. Right?

Shit. It's good I put that in writing, now I can't deny it in a couple years when I get all ashamed and weird about it. Ugh. Fucking Malfoy, he just always got to me, all the fucking time. I'm going to find out what he's up to. There's no way he's changed that much since the war... just picture that. The pureblood prat working, in muggle clothes, in a muggle bar, seeming perfectly at ease. There's a trick in there somewhere, some weird plot. There just is.

I hate myself a little for caring so much. Damn.

xx~xxx~xx

"Jesus, Carol, what now?"

The bint was whiny and she always had a fucking problem. Always.

_Beer is beer._

"You know, Draco, that you're supposed to let it sit before you serve it to me. That's what you do with Guinness."

"Carol, love. What, may I ask, is the difference if it is sitting under my tap or under your large nose? Just wait to drink it, it is the same bloody thing."

"Don't be a cow. That's the rules. I don't make beer, I just drink it."

"You don't, though, you just stare at it and patronise me. Best watch out that I don't spit in it next time."

Draco watched as Carol huffed, flicking her dark locks out of her eyes. He knew that she was right, but he still had a point. It doesn't matter where it sits. It doesn't. He was just in one of his moods, the ones that took him over and made him really want to hex every damn customer that came through the door of the pub for no good reason other than the simple fact that he could. He still had his wand on him, of course, despite working in a Muggle pub. It was in his pocket on most days, though today it was tucked in to his boot. These jeans did not leave room for more than one wand, thank you very much. Poncy? Yes. Best arse ever? Also yes. These jeans got him brilliant tips from men and women alike. And there was no (little) shame in that.

Draco stretched, using the bar to twist round and hear his back make a delightful cracking sound. He sighed in contentment, eyes darting to the door as he heard it creak open. Not a regular patron, but he spared him a glance anyway, greeting him with a tiny nod of his head. He was surprised when the man pulled up a stool at the bar- it was only two in the afternoon, and Carol usually had the whole place to herself at this time. Only sad people and ugly people drank at two in the afternoon. And by that account, this man must have been sad. Draco darted his eyes over to Carol and took note of her eyeing him, as well. Definitely sad, then. Not that Carol had any sort of respectful taste, but.

"What'll it be, then?"

The man looked up at Draco, seeming almost nervous.

"Uh, just a Strongbow."

Draco smirked to himself. Fucking Strongbow, this guy was going to give Carol a run for her money in the Irritating Beer category.

"Nice, er, nice tattoos you've got, there."

Draco turned back to the man, irritated that he didn't even have the audacity to toss him a 'thanks for the beer' before commenting on his appearance.

Draco merely eyed the man and waited for him to continue.

" 'Mean... you've got quite a few."

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he watched the man reach up and tug on his light brown hair, a confused look taking settling on the man's features as it fell right back into place.

"Right... let me know if you need anything else."

At this point, Carol the Cow was looking like a peach.

"What's his deal, then?"

Draco let out a laugh. He couldn't help it, honestly.

"Oh, Carol... let me pour you another."

"So what's your name, then?" came the man's voice from a few seats away.

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

Draco stared. Did this fool seriously just pull an 'I asked you first?'  
The man let out a grunt and then: "Taylor."

"Well, charmed... Taylor. Name's Draco."

Salazar, he hated this part. No one was named Draco. Those ridiculous Americans that named their children Apple and Blanket were almost better. Almost.

"Weird name."

"It's Latin."

"For 'bartender'?"

"For 'dragon,' you twit. Now drink your beer before we play twenty questions."

The man- Taylor, Draco corrected- took a sip before he pressed on.

"So your parents were dragon-tamers, then?"

Draco stilled. A wizard, then? Or just an asshat?

"Why, were your parents seamstresses?"

"Mmm, touche."

"You'll soon learn that you don't want to verbally spar with me, unless you want to be very, very embarrassed."

He looked Taylor right in the eye, searching for the knowing glint, the look that he saw every once in a while that said 'I know you're a Wizard, and I'm one, too.' Instead of a glint, Taylor's dark brown eyes darted away, clearly uncomfortable with the eye contact. Interesting.

"Right. You never answered about your tattoos."

"I wasn't aware that you actually posed a question about them."

Draco leaned a hip against the bar and crossed his arms against his chest, raising his eyebrow once more. _I could do this all day._

Taylor let out a grunt and smiled despite himself, and Draco mentally awarded himself another point.

"Right. Why do you have so many?"

Draco sighed, diving into the simplest explanation that he had come up with since he had started getting the ink.

"Do you collect anything, Taylor?"

"Socks."

Draco blinked. He could not have just said 'socks.' Who the fuck collects socks?

"Sorry, what?"

"Socks. I collect socks."

Draco was satisfied as he watched the blush creep up Taylor's cheeks. As long as he knew that his sock-collecting was absurd.

"Well why do you collect socks?"

Taylor shrugged, tugging on his hair once more. "Dunno. I guess I got some as a present once from a friend at school and I just kept getting more after that."

Draco was intrigued by the sad tinge to Taylor's voice, wondering why on Earth someone would be sad about socks. He didn't dare ask, partially for fear of the answer, and partially because he didn't want to appear interested.

"Same reason I collect tattoos. I also got one while I was in school... though it wasn't quite a present, and I've been getting more ever since."

Taylor smirked. "Which was your first, then?"

Draco stiffened. If the man was a wizard, he surely knew who Draco was this whole time and had been having him on. Even now, so long after the war, his family's part was well-known, and Draco was quite recognisable. And if, by some crazy circumstance, Taylor wasn't sure of who Draco was, this would most certainly confirm it. Even still, Draco didn't want to pause too long. He wasn't ashamed of the Dark Mark, but he sure as hell was tired of customers asking about it. That's why he started getting tattoos in the first place. A sleeve, the Muggles called it. The Mark didn't stick out as much when his entire forearm was covered.

He placed his left arm on the bar, exposing the underside to Taylor.

"That one was the first. The faded one, there, in the middle."  
Taylor gasped, and Draco was slightly impressed at how near to inaudible it was. He looked up from his own arm and into Taylor's eyes once more, and was impressed to see no fear there.

"It's lovely."

Draco took his arm off of the bar without breaking eye contact, waiting for Taylor to dart his eyes away again. He didn't.

"What was on your first sock, then?" Draco asked, clearing his throat.

Taylor smiled a tiny little smile, and it looked almost rueful. "Sports balls... it's kind of a long story."

"Another story for another day."

Taylor broke the eye contact then and Draco hated himself a little bit for assuming there would be another day. He hadn't been interested in learning more about someone in quite a while. But Taylor was nice, albeit strangely nervous, and certainly a wizard after his reaction to Draco's mark. But he wasn't afraid of it. And that, coupled with his strange sock addiction, was enough to spike Draco's interest.

"If you'll tell me about another tattoo."

Draco allowed himself a small smile. "Deal."

xx~xxx~xx

Draco woke up the next day feeling strangely light, refusing to admit to himself why just yet. He enjoyed his shower and his cuppa just like he did every morning, but today there wasn't the tiny voice at the back of his head insisting that there must be something more interesting to do than work. Because he knew that, even if it wasn't today, he would see Taylor again. And that was interesting.

He dressed mindlessly, pulling on a pair of jeans and shoving his wand into his pocket while he thought of what other obscure questions Taylor would ask him. He couldn't get the mumbled "It's lovely" from the day before out of his head. Who called a Dark Mark lovely? Even people that didn't know what it was would never say that. Taylor's tone was almost... reverent? That wasn't the word Draco wanted to use, but he couldn't quite grasp one that was better.

The walk to work passed quickly, and when he walked into the pub he saw Carol already waiting for him, talking to one of the other regulars, Charlie. Draco smiled to himself at the scene; Charlie was in every day; he didn't drink, but he always brought candy for the staff. He would turn 90 in the Summer, but he had this spunk about him that Draco really appreciated. He didn't often sit at the bar, but when he did Draco was always entertained. They would have intellectual conversations, which Draco really valued; it wasn't every day someone was a stimulating match for him intellectually. Other days, Draco would just listen to the multitude of stories Charlie had accumulated over the years. They ranged from every topic under the sun, and Draco enjoyed the break from being the one that had to entertain.

"Charles. It's been a while, how are you?"

"Hello, sport. Get'cher candy before Carol eats it all."

"I'm trying to watch my figure. You won't have all my hard work go to waste, would you, Charles?"

Charlie granted Draco a grin, sliding a small tube of Smarties towards him. Draco gave in easily, just like he always did, winking at Charlie and sliding the candy into his pocket for later.

"Carol. How are you today?"

Draco was afraid of the answer, but he somehow always forgot that until after he asked. Carol was the type of customer that took that question exactly as it was. If she was having the worst day of her life, she would tell you just that, not sparing a single detail. Same if it was the best day of her life, or anywhere in between. It was extremely rare for her to give a simple 'Well, thanks.'

"Don't worry, Draco, no sob stories today. I've got Charlie here to entertain me. You're off the hook."

Draco feigned a pout before heaving a dramatic sigh. Carol ate it up.

He began his duties, cleaning up his space and re-organising everything to be just the way he liked it, washing all the bottle openers and the corkscrews. It wasn't his fault that they were never properly washed before he was in. He lost himself in the task, the familiarity of it all taking over him. Rinse, scrub, twist, scrub, rinse, dry. Rinse, scrub, twist, rinse, dry. Rinse, scrub, twist-

"Now who's this looker?"

Charlie's outburst broke Draco's concentration, and even as he looked up and towards the door, he knew who the 'looker' would be before they met eyes.

"Back so soon?"

"What can I say? I'm just dying to hear about another tattoo. Well... that and it's been a rotten day."

Draco glanced at the clock. It was just barely three in the afternoon.

"How have you even managed to have a full day, let alone a rotten one, by three pm?"

"It's kind of a talent of mine."

"I see. Strongbow, then?"

It was a simple question, but it made his heart race. He tapped his fingers gently against the edge of the bar, realising that he was fidgeting but unable to stop. Perfect.

"I was thinking of something a bit stronger..."

"That bad, huh?"

Draco reached for a highball glass as he studied Taylor's face. He was equally as... not ugly as the day before, but he looked worn down today. Draco wanted to know why, and that annoyed him greatly. For some reason he felt like it would take quite a bit to wear this man down, and he wanted to know what caused it today. But that wasn't really a question that a bar guest would answer plainly. Unless it was Carol.

"You're staring at the poor boy, sport."

The poor boy blushed and scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand.  
"Look at him, Charles. Those lines on his forehead, his eyebrows all scrunched up. They weren't there yesterday."

"You're observant."

Draco smirked. It wasn't a question. He was, though. Observant. He always had been, it was one of the things that saved his ass- in school, in the war, at work.

"Quite."

He poured Taylor two fingers of scotch, feeling warm and at ease. Today was one of the days that he liked his job- as much as Carol irritated him, she was one of his favourite regulars, and so was Charlie. Adding Taylor to the mix just felt nice, like the sun warming your skin on a perfect Summer day in Paris. Refreshing. Different, somehow.

"So, sport? What's got'cher face all scrunched up like that? You look about as old as I am."

Draco smirked at Charlie, feeling the smirk spread into a real smile as he watched Charlie break out into his horse, raucous laughter.

Taylor sighed deeply, spinning the glass in his hand and looking very contemplative, indeed.

"Well... I'm a teacher. A trainer, of sorts. I got a new batch of students today and they're... hopeless."

He let out a sigh, draining the entire glass in one go. Draco might have been a little impressed. Just a little. And curious. A wizard teacher? At Hogwarts? Durmstrang? But he had said trainer, as well...? Draco added confused to his list of emotions. He sighed.

"Don't forget about first day jitters and all that, yeah?"

Taylor smirked, and the expression seemed out of place on him. "I wish I could blame it on that, dragon. It's even worse, believe me. Nothing a little distraction won't fix."

Draco cursed Taylor and his words immediately, his brain mutating the words into a distraction very different than the one Taylor was after. He thought maybe he could change that, though. All in good time.

"A tattoo story, then? I assure you they really aren't that interesting."

He looked up at the bar, and was a little bit surprised to see all three pairs on him, expectant. He had never really talked to Charlie or Carol about his tattoos, he supposed. Carol was always too busy talking his damn ear off, and he always had more important things to discuss with Charlie.

"Right, then. Would you like to pick one?" He held his arm out in viewing range of his three guests, annoyingly intrigued by the whole game. He watched Taylor rake his eyes over his arm, and he could sense him trying to memorise every last inch, not wanting to miss anything. He wondered, if his intuition was right and he was a wizard, Taylor would spot the snitch hidden in the sleeve. Lost in his own curiosity, he almost didn't feel the fingers graze over his forearm. Almost. Right above the inside of his elbow, he felt the fingers trace gently, landing right in the crook of his elbow. Or elbow pit, as he referred to it. Taylor's touch was careful, not wanting to intrude, but when Draco looked up to catch his expression, he was deep in concentration, awe. Draco knew what he was tracing, he knew his tats with his eyes closed standing on his head in a pile of snow. Not that that'd been tested, of course.

It was his tree piece, a beautiful, nearly naked tree with the roots tracing his veins into his elbow pit and curling into an almost-sort of-maybe heart. It was a very sentimental piece and the only other soul that knew its significance was his tattoo artist. The tree had leaves surrounding its roots, five of them, one for each person he had loved and lost. Still on the tree's branches were four leaves; he had been toying with adding a fifth for his second cousin, Teddy. All things considered, Draco didn't blame Taylor for staring at it. It was an intricate piece, each leaf detailed to symbolise whomever it stood for. Lucius' leaf, in particular, always stuck out to Draco whenever he looked at the piece, the heavy black lines leaping out in contrast to his pale, nearly translucent skin.

"Will you tell me about this one?"

The question was so quiet, so soft, that Draco almost didn't hear it. That reverent tone he had a glimpse of when Taylor saw the Mark was back, and Draco was torn. Strangely enough, he felt compelled to be honest with Taylor, a man he had just met, yet when his own mother had noticed the new ink, he had brushed off her question; King of Avoidance. He let a little smile creep onto his face, bringing him back to the present.

"Interesting choice. It... it represents the people in my life. The leaves on the ground are people that are gone. Have died. The leaves on the tree are for the people I still keep close. You'll notice how few there are still attached to the tree."

He watched Taylor take in the explanation, loving the way he took his time to really soak it in. This was no ordinary man. And somehow, Draco couldn't quite accept his curiosity. Why did Taylor want to know so much about him? Not that Draco could really comment on the matter, since he was equally as curious. But he has an excuse, bartender and all. It's part of his job to be interested. Of course it is.

"The leaves are all so... different."

"Just like the people, Taylor."

Draco sighed, memories of each individual flitting through his mind. He could feel Taylor resting his forearm on his own, tracing his finger over Snape's leaf; so gently that Draco had to suppress a shiver. He looks up, meeting Taylor's eyes, silently daring him to ask another question about it. Taylor's eyes don't move from his, and there's a familiar look there- challenge, he thinks, and he's instantly thrown back to all those days on the Quidditch pitch, in Potions, or just eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Potter. But the look is all wrong on Taylor's hazel eyes.

Draco hears Charlie cough, and when he tears his eyes away from Taylor's, he's staring, along with Carol who is so flushed that she looks sunburnt. Taylor's voice makes him turn right back to him, not wanting to lose the challenge.

"This leaf?"

"A teacher of mine. A mentor, of sorts. My closest friend, towards the end..."

And dammit, he hated when his voice got scratchy, but his heart still hurt when it came to Severus, and he honestly didn't think it would ever stop. To this day, he still felt partially to blame. He looked down at the leaf, the black outline filled halfway with green, the rest with white. A stark black line was drawn right down the leaf's middle, a snake curled up at the tip of the leaf. Because a part of Draco died that day, too. He sent a silent apology up to Sev, startling when he heard Taylor's barstool scraping against the wooden floorboards.

"It's lovely," he said, sliding a few pounds across the bar and turning to make his exit.  
"No." And there it was, out before Draco could stop himself.

"It's on me today, mate. See you soon, yeah?"

The surprise on Taylor's face was visible as he re-pocketed the money, giving Draco a small smile as he tugged on his fringe.

"Thanks... And yeah, I'll, er... I'll be around."

Draco smiled to himself, unable to stop the feeling of how nice it was to share a little piece of himself with someone else.

Of course, he would never admit it.

xx~xxx~xx

6th May, 2003

I went back. Twice. I don't know why I have no bloody control when it comes to this man. And no bravado, since I wore someone else's skin. Damn Polyjuice, leaves my body feeling weird for hours after.

But it's him, there's no denying it now. I saw the Mark, looked at his other tattoos. He told me about one today, a tree with all these leaves symbolising people in his life that have died. There were more leaves on the ground than there were on the tree... my stomach churned when I noticed that. There are only four leaves left on the tree. Four people in his life that he keeps close.

I want to know who they are. I want to know all about this new Draco. No point in stopping now, right?

Wrong. I should stop. But I'm a grown man and I can make my own decisions, even if they involve borrowing someone else's body to stalk Draco Malfoy.

Merlin, that sounds ridiculous. But honestly, in the world of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy... what else is new?

~~xx~xxx~xx~~


	2. Chapter 2

Harry fucking hated rain. And calling this weather rain would be putting it nicely. It was more like a fucking downpour of every wet weather substance there was. And Harry was having none of it today.

He was absolutely tired of the Ministry sending him the most hopeless Aurors of each new bunch. Just because he was Harry Potter didn't mean he could work miracles. Sure, he had survived the killing curse... twice. But that didn't mean he was some sort of supernatural being that could magically make these idiots Aurors. And the turn around rate? He only had four weeks. Because that was possible with these people that supposedly passed all their tests and whatnot. They may as well have been squibs, and Harry was fucking sick of it.

He was dying to get out of the rain, smashing about in the puddles was doing nothing for him today. If he was honest, he did quite like the sound it made, but it just wasn't having the same affect after his failure of a class. Honestly, who put these people through? Who told them they could be Aurors? He had doubted _himself_ at some points in the training, and he had defeated the damn Dark Lord. These people... These people couldn't cast a decent Expelliarmus. And to make it even better, he truly could not decide who was the worst. Normally, in every bunch, there were one or two that were just really awful. Awful enough that even the other nitwits laughed at them. There was none of that here.

Today, though, he thought it may have been the young one, Harriet. She was a transfer from the US Aurors and had to go through training again, since they did things so differently across the pond. They also apparently passed everyone, because there was no way her brain stored anything except for her favourite colours of nail varnish. And she fucking _loved_ him, too. Always pointing out that they had the same name and that they both had black hair and that they were almost twins and hahahahahahaha! She finished more sentences with giggles than actual words. She's apparently a very famous actor in the US, some Broadway performer who left a show about tap dancing newspaper boys to be an Auror. But the only thing Harry could think of was what he was doing at 17- fighting a war that saved the world- and what she was doing- failing to cast first year spells because somehow every word reminded her of a song.

As Harry continued stomping through the puddles, unfulfilled, he decided that today it was a tie between Harriet and Cheryl. Cheryl was the complete opposite of Harriet... she was about twice as old as Harry, and she looked at him in such a way that he often had to check if he had clothes on. She was definitely fit, but, if Harry was honest with himself, he hadn't played on her team in quite a few years. It didn't help that he blushed easily, either, because whenever she would rake her eyes over him and see the blush that took over his whole body, she would smirk. She definitely knew how un-comfortable she made him, and she seemed to enjoy it. The only thing that she had over Harriet, and the rest of the group, is that she's actually pretty decent with spells and charms. It's her unprofessional behaviour and her case strategy that need work. Okay, mostly her behaviour.

Harry was so busy ranting in his head that he hadn't realised where his puddle-sloshing had taken him. He was standing on a corner in Muggle London, just a few blocks away from Malfoy's pub. He hadn't been in for a few days, not since his first day with the new group. He'd been trying to stay away, feeling like too much of a grown up to resort back to his old Malfoy-stalking tactics. Only this time, he'd used someone else's skin instead of the invisibility cloak... and he honestly wasn't sure which was worse. Merlin.

There he was, standing on the corner and staring in the direction of the pub. He wanted to go in. He wanted to go in badly, and he cursed himself for not bringing along Polyjuice to work that day. But truly, the last thing he needed was the Ministry to do a random security check that day and find the 'Great Harry Potter' toting around a vial of Polyjuice and some poor bloke's hair. The good news was that he was wearing Muggle clothes... he liked them best under his Auror robes, they were most comfortable. Wizard robes and clothing were still a little foreign to Harry. Too many unnecessary buttons and zippers and doo-dads. But could he really stroll into the pub, as himself? Would Malfoy hex him? He took a step closer, the temptation to witness Malfoy's reaction too great. He wondered, though, could he be himself? Would Malfoy recognise his personality as Taylor's? He took a step back, tugging at his sopping hair, torn. He lifted a hand to scrub at his face, drying it, and when his hand landed back at his side, he had decided.

His first few steps were hesitant, but the momentum soon followed. He cast a wandless drying charm on himself and pulled up the collar on his jacket for the last few blocks. Now it would appear that he had taken just a short walk to get to the pub... no need to look like a drowned rat. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, realising that he was sort of primping for Draco Malfoy. Annoyed, he shoved his hands in his pockets, splashing in puddles for the last block. He reached the pub faster than he wanted to, gave his hair a quick shake, and pushed open the door, scowling. He was already second-guessing his decision to stop in as himself. He took off his jacket as he walked towards the bar, noticing that the woman with the dark hair was there again. He almost gave her a wave before remembering that she wouldn't have a clue in the slightest who he was. He selected a seat close to the woman, dropping his jacket in between them as he pulled up a stool. There was no one behind the counter. What if he wasn't in today? After Harry finally got the momentary bravery to come in as himself... he sighed, scrubbing at his face again. It didn't matter. It didn't, because no matter who was working, Harry really needed a drink. If it was Malfoy, he would probably need two.

He must've made a noise, because the woman looked over at him, her head cocked in concern.

"S-sorry..."

"Don't be, love!"

She didn't sound the same as she had the other day. Actually, Harry couldn't quite remember what she'd sounded like at all. She must have spoken in front of him before. Had he really been so concentrated on Malfoy and his tattoos that he had tuned her out? He didn't like that possibility.

"I don't mean to be nosy, but I've not seen you in here before, and I'm in here nearly every day. Are you a friend of Draco's? You _do_ look like his type."

Harry heard a crash from the room behind the bar, and then:

"Carol! Don't be trying to set me up while I'm doing you a favour, you bloody bint!"

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it, the whole thing was just so preposterous. Malfoy working in a pub, doing someone a favour, yelling at customers.

"Never you mind, Draco, dear! He_ is_ just your type! Dark hair, even if it is a tad messy... and bright eyes!"

Harry swallowed, and it felt like tacks. How could he not have known? Malfoy is gay...? And suddenly, it all made sense, his memories of Malfoy playing in front of him like some bizarre film. The only girl that had ever paid any attention to him in school was Pansy, and they'd known each other since birth; one of those creepy pureblood arranged friendships that everyone hoped turned into marriage. And now that he thought about it, he did recall seeing an article or two in the Daily Prophet over the years, linking him to various men. Saying horrible things, actually, that he was disgracing the Malfoy name, that it was a good thing his father wasn't alive to see this. At the time Harry was just relieved that the news wasn't on him for a change. Of course, it never lasted very long. But Merlin, did it make sense. Malfoy is gay.

No sooner than Harry could finish his thought did he hear footsteps coming from the back room. They seemed to get louder with every step, and Harry felt like his heart had started to beat in time. Step-thud, step-thud, step-slam. And Harry definitely had not given a single butterfly permission to throw a party in his stomach, and he'd definitely not given them permission to slam dance at said party. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to keep a drink down. Step-thud, step-thud.

"Christ, Carol, this box is heavy! You best appreciate this. And it's also in your best interest to be telling the truth about this man out here. I know how you love to blow things out of proportion."

Harry watched as Malfoy but the box down on the bar, right in between Carol and himself. Merlin, it was strange to be this close to him in his own skin. It was so strange, and Harry couldn't pin why it was so different, but it was. Perhaps it was more of a risk? Whatever it was, it fascinated him. He watched as Malfoy slid Carol a 40 of Guinness, barely hearing the insult he slid along with it over his heart beating in his ears.

"And now I can focus on... you."

He watched Malfoy turn, and it was like it was in slow motion. He had this smile on his face, a real smile, and his eyes were all bright and weird, and Godric, he was smouldering at Harry. And then it was gone as soon as it had appeared, the smile warped into a smirk that was still so familiar, despite its five year absence from Harry's life. The brightness gone from those grey eyes and replaced with their usual storm.

"I told you, Draco. Just your type."

Harry saw Carol take a sip out of her beer, an I-Told-You-So expression taking over her features, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"His name's- actually, dear you never did tell me your name. Someone rudely interrupted us, didn't they? She glared at Malfoy, teasing him with her eyes. But he wasn't looking.

Harry tore his eyes from Malfoy's, smiling politely at Carol.

"I'm-"

"His name is Harry."

He almost spat the words, his voice so cold that Harry nearly shivered.

"Goodness, Draco, you are quite the interrupter today. You two know each other? So I was right, then, about him being your type? Oh my, you don't look pleased to see him... He broke your heart, yeah? Cause he is most certainly your-"

"Carol, if you say that he is my type one more time I will bludgeon you to death with that beer."

Carol visibly flinched, and Harry was willing to bet that she had never heard Draco make such a real threat before. What he'd witnessed of their relationship the few times he'd been in, it had seemed like playful banter. She recovered quickly though, and set about breaking the ice. Harry began to admire her bravery, because even though this was a challenge he'd faced a thousand times over the years, he was about to bolt.

"So, how do you two know each other then?"

The question was directed at Draco, who was still staring daggers at Harry. Desperate to not fuck this up, Harry jumped in.

"We went to school together."

"Oh, the mysterious boarding school in Scotland! Did you like it as much as Draco did?"

Harry smiled, genuinely pleased that, after everything, Draco found positive words for the school that Harry loved so much.

"I would say even more than he did, actually."

Draco snorted. "Jesus, Potter, is it always a competition with you?"

Harry smiled, because this was somehow better than what he'd expected. It felt almost natural that the first thing Malfoy said to him was a sort of insult. And it would be so easy to fall back into the pattern of hating Malfoy, and tossing insults back and forth... but he was so interested in what he'd uncovered already. Draco was willing to talk to Taylor, but Harry got Malfoy. Two sides of the same man, and now all Harry wanted was to find out which was the real Draco Malfoy. Tragic, really.

"Honestly, I just never knew that you actually liked school. Quite the surprise."

Malfoy blinked. He was clearly taken aback by Harry's civility. Which was completely fair, since he was pretty sure that he had never displayed it to Malfoy. At least, not that Malfoy was aware of. Harry instantly flashed back to all the meetings he'd had with the Wizengamot, the secret testimonies he'd given for the Malfoy family. He'd saved two out of three Malfoys, and that was enough for him. And as far as he knew, Draco had no idea.

"So are you drinking, or are you just here to annoy me?"

"Drinking. It's been a shit day."

"Right. Well, what'll it be, Saviour?"

"I don't know. Surprise me."

"How did I know you'd be difficult?"

"I'm not being difficult, I just don't know what I want to drink."

"It's not a hard choice, Potter."

"You're the bartender, isn't it your job to-"

"Boys!"

Carol's voice cut through the banter, sending Harry right back to his school days, a voice that was part Hermione and part McGonagall lecturing him in a very similar way. He looked from Carol to Malfoy, the absurdity of the whole thing making him want to giggle uncomfortably, but knowing Malfoy would somehow make it into something offensive if he did. He settled for a happy sigh instead, a shy smile taking over. Merlin, he felt weird.

"Right, just some scotch, then."

"On the rocks, or-"

"Draco, don't make this more complicated than it already is."

"Right. Right."

The tension was palpable. Harry wondered what Carol must be thinking right now. Just from the few times they'd met, he definitely got the sense that she was a bit of a gossip, but in the endearing sort of way.

"You called me Draco."

Harry stilled. Fuck, he had called him Draco. His few days as Taylor had landed him on that name. That was the name he'd introduced himself as, and it had just stuck. But that was Draco, and this was Malfoy. Fuck, Harry was so confused. He knew Draco... Malfoy, whomever, was a Gemini, and they're supposed to be two-faced, or two-sided, or what-the-fuck-ever. Not that he was well versed in astrology, it was a little too Trelawney for him, but he'd picked up a few things. It's Hermione's guilty pleasure. Which still amuses Harry to this day, since Divination is about the only thing that 'Mione is pants at.

"Er, yeah, that's uh... that's your name, so...?"

And then, a most miraculous thing happened. Draco laughed. A real laugh, not the bitter, cruel laugh he'd heard before. And years from now, when Harry would look back on this moment, it would be the moment he realised that he was well and truly fucked. Because he had made Draco Malfoy laugh, and the second it was over, he just wanted to do it again. And then maybe another time after that.

"I do know that, thank you. You've just never used my given name before."

"Well... I've never... Haven't seen you since..."

Harry accepted his drink from Draco gratefully, sipping it immediately, a welcome burn sliding down his throat as he drained a third of the glass easily. He chanced a glance at his bartender, whose eyes were maybe starting to sparkle again, one perfect eyebrow arched.

"Easy there, Potter, it's not that bad."

Harry had to agree. In fact, he couldn't quite remember why he had felt so desperate for a drink on his way over. Surely it wasn't that bad. Not as bad as the goddamn butterflies in his stomach popping champagne bottles, the corks slamming into the sides of his stomach; his heart the speaker of the party, the bass booming. As he sat there, he couldn't help but wonder where the fuck he would go from here. Five years had gone by, a war was behind them, he had used Draco's given name, Draco worked in a Muggle pub, he had made him laugh, and he was gay. Carol had pretty much spelled it out, and apparently he was just Draco's type. This information was not good news. It wasn't, not at all. It made Harry feel sick to his stomach, dizzy, nauseous, feverish. Angry even, like he was going to do something completely reckless, cast a spell on Carol just because he could, exposing wizards to Muggles. That was definitely his reaction. For sure.

Harry raised the glass to his lips, draining the rest of the scotch in one go. He snuck a glance at Draco over the glass' rim, watched his long fingers scratch mindlessly at his wrist. He wanted to ask about his tattoos, as himself, and see what his reaction would be. He wanted to ask why he got a job, and why this job. Wanted to know where he lived, did he still talk to any of his school friends, how was his mother, what was his drink of choice? He had a million and one questions and not a clue how to begin.

He sighed inwardly, watching the Draco's adam's apple bob as he had a sip of water. His eyes traveled down his throat, and nope, he definitely didn't want to graze it with his teeth, not at all. And whatever that tattoo was on his clavicle, peeking out of his shirt, taunting him, that definitely wasn't attractive, and he definitely did _not _want to trace the ink with his tongue. Not. At. All.

"Potter. You're staring."

And he was, he totally was, and he was blushing too, he could feel himself flush. Cheryl would be so pleased. Harry wondered if she would make Draco blush, too. But he didn't imagine how the blond would look all flushed, and he definitely didn't wonder if the blush would stain just his cheeks, or if it would spread across his clavicle, and whatever those tattoos were, and maybe even farther down.

Godric, he was so, so fucked.

He hoped.

~xxx~X~xxx~


End file.
